Colorful Imagination
by Lady of the Weeping Willow
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Margaret "Marr" Campbell has grown up in a family full of secrets. Memories of death, encounters with talking vermin, and flight through dark, dark caves haunt her dreams at night, memories her family insist are made up by her colourful imagination, and she becomes determined to prove her memories are real.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Sixteen-year-old Margaret "Marr" Campbell has grown up in a family full of secrets. Memories of death, encounters with talking vermin, and flight through dark, dark caves haunt her dreams at night, memories her family insist are made up by her colourful imagination. When her brother and sister mysteriously disappear one night, leaving nothing but an open vent and a swarm of roaches behind, she runs away to find them - and to prove her memories were real.

* * *

"Uh, nope. Busy on Thursday as well. I have to go to the dress fitting."

She listened for a moment to the confused, upset sounds coming out of her phone.

" _No_ , Ben, you _cannot_ go with me. As bridesmaid, I have to spend some quality alone time with my sister. And besides, if you come with me then I won't be able to complain about that lovey-dovey Edison wannabe tagging along everywhere anymore." Margaret clamped her phone firmly between her ear and shoulder, rolling her eyes as she flipped through yet another section of the florist's magazine-type thing. She hated daisies. She hated daisies, why did they have to be put so liberally through the brochure? Could they not just dedicate one or two pages to those horrid flowers and just be done with it?

"LIZZIE!" she yelled, dog-earing a page containing several shades of pink wild roses.

Her sister emerged from the bathroom at long-last, wrapped in a white towel. "God, Marr, I thought you were dying in here."

"No, sorry – Ben _, stop listing days_ , I'm literally busy for the whole month. Wha – oh, I'm busy on Saturday. We're meeting the photographer." She nodded animatedly and gave her sister the thumbs-up. "What? _No!_ Lizzie, you need me for that, don't you? " Marr shot her sister the biggest puppy eyes she could muster.

"Marr, the only day you're _not_ free is Thursday. You don't _have_ to go try out cakes or choose the flowers or, well, anything else." Lizzie said matter-of-factly.

 _Shut up,_ Marr mouthed angrily to her older sister, cringing, baring her teeth. Lizzie grinned and went into their shared bedroom to change.

"No, no, she was just telling me that I _absolutely_ have to be there. Ben, they won't be able to do _anything_ without me. Lizzie's a maths freak and Jed is an Edison wannabe who drools. Well, I _think_ he drools. He _definitely_ looks like the drooling type. Oh, what's _that, Lizzie_? You need me to go grocery shopping? Right _now_? Ben, I have to go." Marr completed unceremoniously, hanging up without waiting for her boyfriend of five months to respond just as Lizzie walked in, dressed in jeans and a large, faded red t-shirt, her damp hair loose.

"God, what did he _do_ to you? You're so _rude_." Her tone was mocking, and she hadn't lost the grin.

"I'm just getting _sick_ of him. Too _clingy_. I always tell myself I'm gonna dump 'im the next time I see him, but them his face makes me feel sad and I put it off, so now I'm just avoiding seeing him."

"But he's the one who you were crying about two months ago, because you could never be together? The one you were calling 'my love'?"

"Um, no. That was actually a _Vampire Diaries_ character, but thanks for the attention."

"Damn, Marr, if you ever have a meaningful relationship, I'll be expecting a talking rat at my wedding." Lizzie laughed, clearly meaning her statement as a joke, but there was something in her tone that made her sound wistful – almost.

"Well, at least we know that your wedding will be pest-free?" Marr offered, falling back onto the cushions.

"I guess." Lizzie lost the grin. _"Pests."_

She said nothing more for at least an hour. An hour - that was the extent of her silences. She never _did_ have it as bad as Gregor.

* * *

Later that day, Marr went to visit the graveyard – like she did every Tuesday. Specifically, she visited her family's plot. There rested her grandmother and her father, both of whom she did not remember, both of whom she greatly wished to know. They had both died at around the same time - when she had been a little over three. Her grandma due to extensive heart problems – that, at least, she knew. When she thought of her grandmother, she glimpsed a blur of memories. A sick woman who used to wrap her up in a patchwork quilt and sing her songs.

She did not remember many songs from her childhood.

Her father, on the other hand, was a bit of a mystery to her. All she could remember was the smell of drop biscuits with grape jelly, a man with white, white hair - Santa Claus had begun to unnerve her after his passing, but it was all the same to her. Christmas was not a very happy time for her or for her family.

The first long word she had ever learned was ' _medicine_ '. That was because her father had had some, a jar of it, which he needed to stay lucid and healthy. When the medicine ran out, well. That was when the memories of the smell of drop biscuits ended.

There, sandwiched between the graves of her grandmother and her father, was an empty plot. Her mother had purchased it shortly after her father had died. She never did mention who she thought would need it. It would have been pointless - it was rather obvious.

* * *

As she was leaving the graveyard, by sundown, she saw the familiar shape of her brother approaching. He was still in his uniform, gun gleaming in its holster. Marr speed-walked the few paces between them, heels clicking on the pavement, and threw her arms around his neck, an affectionate gesture that she reserved for only her brother.

"Boots. I knew I'd find you here." Gregor said, once Marr had broken her embrace. The name of Boots was another exception she made for Gregor. She had even forbidden Lizzie from calling her that, claiming that it was a much too a childish name for her. But really, she felt like her brother had deserved the right to call her by her toddler nickname, even well into her teenage years. As for her mother...her mother didn't have much to say to her these days.

Maybe it was because he had earned it.

Maybe it was because Marr hoped he would, one day, share of his secrets with her.

God knew her brother had more secrets than anyone in her family. Scars covered his entire body – he tried to hide them, wearing long sleeves and long pants even in the hottest of summers, but Marr had seen them often, running into his room as a child while he was changing – she never had any regard for others' privacy before entering puberty herself. He had rows of round scars winding across his arms, five large gashes on his chest, long scars wrapping around his legs and forearms, and she wouldn't even get started on the deep cuts, practically everywhere. The deepest by far were on both his palms. Whenever Marr asked what had caused the scars, he would tell her that he had been in a car crash.

Of course, of course she would never believe that; never accept it as the truth. Something had happened, while she had still been in diapers, which had traumatized her mother and siblings terribly, both physically and mentally.

And, determined as she was, her faith that she would one day find out was starting to waver. Perhaps they'd forgotten themselves.

"You were looking for me? Is something wrong?"

Gregor gulped, unconsciously, at the question. "No, no. You just left your phone back home, and Lizzie's been trying to reach you. You left without telling her and she was getting worried."

"I come here every Tuesday. You'd think she'd stop panicking. I'm not going to be kidnapped."

Another nervous, likely unconscious gulp.

"Don't say that."

Marr was about to ask why, but quickly changed her mind. Questions, she had learned, were never good. Not in her family. "All right. It's getting late, we should go home."

* * *

If there was one consistent thing In Marr's memory, it was the apartment building.

Not the actual rooms themselves – their mom had cracked after their father had died and announced they were moving out. But due to the lack of reasonably-priced apartments in New York City, they were forced to relocate in the same apartment building – only two floors up. It was just as well. They were now on the same floor as Mrs. Cormaci, a seventy-something year-old woman with cholesterol and a bad leg. Despite her incredible nosiness, Marr liked her. She was the closest thing she had to a grandmother, and her cooking was a thing of wonder. Plus, she was good for stories. Both for listening to Marr's naratives and for telling them herself, and sometimes Marr thought that Mrs. Cormaci knew more than she was letting on – about what had traumatized Gregor and Lizzie so badly.

Gregor didn't live with them anymore. Sure, he still had his old room and stayed two nights a week, but he had his own place now – moved out once he'd earned his police officer's badge.

Marr missed him although she saw him every day, and it would become worse now, because soon Lizzie would get married and move out, too, leaving her all alone with her erratic, overworked mother.

Marr wasn't very easily scared, but truly, she was terrified of what their mother had become. She still worked two jobs - wouldn't let Gregor help pay the rent no matter how many times he insisted (Lizzie was still in college, working on her bachelor's degree in mathematics) - and was only home for a few brief hours in the night and early morning, wandering and wandering and either crying with mournful shrieks that had the neighbours knocking on the walls or making no noise at all, just lying there with damp, open eyes, sometimes making Marr believe that she had finally passed away, because at fifty years old, Grace looked older and sicker than Mrs. Cormaci ever could.

And there were the scars – when their mom wasn't sleeping, working or crying, she would be religiously covering up her blue, bulging, bruise-like scars with a wide array of cheap makeup products.

Marr had learned not to ask what they were.

Indeed, crying was how they found her that evening, too. Lizzie was kneeling at her head, beside the couch, crooning "Mama, don't cry, it's okay," and stroking her cheek, carefully avoiding the purple disfigurement.

Marr then made a beeline for the bathroom, planning to lock herself in for a long shower, until her mother had definitely fallen asleep. She never did know what do to when others were crying – it made her feel panicked and uncomfortable – and she always figured it was best to allow Lizzie and Gregor to comfort her.

Once she'd locked the door with a resounding _click,_ Marr promptly discarded her clothes – short white sundress, lace undergarments of the same snowy colouring – and kicked off her black heeled sandals. She released her brown locks from their high ponytail and stepped into the tiny, steaming shower, praying that there was enough hot water to last her at least a half-hour.

Over the comforting thrumming of the water, she could hear voices - Lizzie and Gregor's, arguing loudly. She tried to make out the words, frowning slightly – her brother and sister never fought.

"… _have doctors, can treat her better…..don't even know…..wrong….worse…."_

"… _..going, you know….place is like…..make her worse…haven't…down there…..years…"_

Marr stopped the shower just in time to hear what was definitely her sister sighing.

"Fine. I'm not going. But remember – it's your fault when she dies."

There were no more voices after that. Marr tried turning the water on again, but it had suddenly gone freezing and she yelped and swore and turned the knob off with a slam, jumping out immediately to wrap a towel around herself.

There was no noise that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** Sixteen-year-old Margaret "Marr" Campbell had grown up in a family full of secrets. Memories of death, encounters with talking vermin, and flights through dark, dark caves haunt her dreams at night, memories her family insist are made up by her colourful imagination. When her brother and sister mysteriously disappear one night, leaving nothing but an open vent and a swarm of roaches behind, she runs away to find them - and to prove her memories were real

 **Note:** This chapter is a little slow-going, but it's important as it introduces more of Marr's character and sets the foundation of this story, as well as foreshadowing events which will happen (much, much) later. I try to update once every week at the least, but due to exams I'm finding it difficult to find time this year. Just bear with me, and have patience -good things come to those who wait!

 **Chapter:** Marr notices that something is wrong. Ben has a confession to make. Mrs. Cormaci's lucidity is jinxed.

Here goes the second chapter - I've gotten lots of positive feedback on the first one, and I hope you all like this one as much!

* * *

When Marr awoke the next morning, she instinctively knew something was not right. The room was far too quiet, absent from Lizzie's usual light snores.

She opened one eye and checked the time on her phone, a battered second-hand iPhone 4 she'd gotten a bargain on – the thing was ancient.

Eight thirty. Lizzie's bed looked unslept in.

Her mother was definitely gone at this time, working in that crappy diner around the corner. Lizzie might have been at college on a normal Wednesday at this hour, but even _she_ wasn't enough of a nerd to go to school during the summer holidays. No, she should have been up by now, probably already back from her morning jog. Lizzie liked to stick to a schedule. She'd have been sitting at the kitchen table at this time, looking up the most difficult math challenges she could find on the internet.

If she'd been home.

Marr groaned and chucked her phone down on the carpet, rubbing her stinging eyes with two fingers. God, why was she so tired? She must've slept for over ten hours. After a brief few seconds' pause, she threw off the bed covers and stepped out of bed, drew back the curtains (why hadn't Lizzie done that?) and nearly hissed at the already-blaring light.

Padding out into the kitchen, sure enough, there was no Lizzie squinting at her laptop through square glasses, no Gregor humming while making coffee.

After having eaten and changed into another of her summer dresses, this one a dark red, rather low-cut shift dress, barely brushing the tops of her thighs (No-one was here, therefore no-one could yell at her to cover up) Marr had come to the conclusion that Gregor was out with his girlfriend and Lizzie was still on her jog. It made sense.

But three hours later, having tired of scrolling through her phone, inconspicuously avoiding Ben's calls (three of them) and desperately trying to make plans with her friends, all of whom were busy, she was finally fed up. She hopped off the counter, her behind completely numb, and called Lizzie, not for the first time.

Again, straight to voicemail. Lizzie never turned off her phone, the same way she never turned off her brain (she really needed a break, Marr always thought)

How long _could_ a person jog for? If it had been Gregor, or even Marr herself, she might have believed it, but Lizzie was always just moderately sporty. Maybe she'd met up with Jed (who hated it when Marr called him that, so she did it just to annoy him) and maybe they'd talked.

For a while.

Because, unlike Marr's (plural)(past) relationships, Lizzie's (relationship)(singular) actually involved more than small talk. Maybe that was why Marr could never stick with the same guy for more than a few months – he always, inevitably got so _boring._

They were good while they lasted, however. Not intellectually satisfying (but then, Marr wasn't Lizzie) but certainly _another_ kind of satisfying.

Even Ben, bless him, seemed to know (and rather well at that) what he was doing, and maybe that was just the reason that Marr had kept him around for so long.

After another hour of moping around, watching TV, and checking her phone for any updates from her siblings, Marr decided to go out and walk for a bit – all this boredom couldn't be good for her brain, surely – so she quickly did her makeup, carefully shaping her brows, brushing on two layers of mascara complemented by a sharp cat liner, and painting her lips with a clear gloss. Before unlocking the door, she checked her phone's battery – 67% - and strapped on a pair of white heels.

The corridor outside the apartment was as normal as it usually was. Maybe there were a few cockroaches more than usual, but then, that was normal during the summer. They liked it in their apartment, too.

Her mom never swatted them.

She passed the red wine stain by Mrs. Cormaci's door – normal, normal – and the other neighbour's door, through which a young single mother could be heard hollering at her two kids – normal, normal. She then took the stairs, as the lift was broken down – also normal. It seemed to be a perfectly ordinary day.

The sun outside was blindingly white, and within three minutes Marr was already sweating enough to begin questioning her life choices.

Disaster nearly struck when she caught a flash of Ben's all-too-familiar, spiky blonde hair rounding a corner, and she instantly ducked down so he wouldn't see her, earning a few strange looks from the afternoon passers-by. She did not have the energy necessary to deal with Ben's antics this early in the morning.

She was used to the looks and stares, then. While her impressive height of 5'11 would be enough to attract attention any day, heels or no heels, it was paired with a thin, shapely waist, and soft curves that all but demanded awe. Add her delicate features, blemish-free skin and waist-length hair into the mix, and she became a sight for sore eyes, if there ever was one. Not that she was modest about it – she flaunted her looks like there was no tomorrow.

She was hoping to find Gregor or Lizzie somewhere, but two almost-encounters with Ben, three catcalls and five angry Central Park pigeons later, she accepted that they were no-where to be found and she should try and distract herself from the oncoming despair.

They'd never cut off contact with her. She didn't want to believe it (yet) but something was definitely, definitely wrong.

But outside, it was still a normal day.

* * *

Later on that day, Marr had been spending the last few hours feeding the pigeons (she'd bought a cheap loaf of bread at a corner-store and sat on a bench, crumbling the stale bread painstakingly slow and absently scattering it around her). They cooed softly, surrounding her completely and forming a barrier between her and the hundreds of other people strolling through the park. A few had the nerve to fly on the bench, hopping around next to her, and she stroked their wings thoughtfully when an incredulous voice yanked her back to reality.

"Marr? What are you doing here? I thought you said you'd be spending the whole day inside with your sister? I dropped by your apartment but there was no-one there! You said you didn't have time to meet up, but you don't look busy now! I must've called you about half a dozen times, Marr!"

Marr blinked almost guiltily at her hopefully-soon-to-be ex, Ben.

"I _was_ busy. We were…" she quickly spun up a lie, her voice and mind groggy. "We were out with Mrs. Cormaci, looking for…apartments for rent or… sale." Her sister and Jed had already rented the apartment they were to move in to after the wedding, but then, _Ben_ didn't know _that_.

"But…I saw Mrs. Cormaci on my way out, and she said she hadn't seen you _or_ Lizzie all day.

Marr blinked again, more disturbed at the fact that her sister hadn't returned home even at this hour than at being caught in a lie.

"Senile old woman," she brushed off, though she winced at resorting to insulting Mrs. Cormaci. She traced the length of a pigeon's neck with her index finger and extended her other palm to it, hand-feeding it a few bread crumbs. The pigeon was easily distinguishable from all the others due to a single white feather in the middle of its otherwise grey right wing.

"Well, anyways," he seemed to accept this and visibly calmed down, sitting down beside her on the bench, scooting closer while she scooted away. "The reason I was looking for you is…Marr, you've been distant lately and it's made me _realise_ something. It – I have to tell you something."

Well, now her curiosity was piqued. Maybe he'd come to the same conclusion as her and they could have a nice, friendly, clean split.

"Go on." She tossed a handful of crumbs around. She looked back at the pigeon she'd hand-fed. "I like this pigeon," she murmured absentmindedly. "What should I name it? Fred, I think."

He chose to ignore this.

"Marr, we've gone through so, so much together," he paused, clearly for dramatic effect – his speech was _so_ rehearsed. Probably in front of a mirror. Oh, he was _definitely_ breaking up with her. Finally. It would make a nice change, not having to cut things off herself with a guy for once. "and I'll admit, after about three months it did initially start getting boring," _Oh yes, please continue, "_ but lately while we haven't even met up as much, it's given me some time to think and – Marr, I think - "

"You wanna break up? Oh, _finally!_ I was going to break things off next week if you didn't, but I'm glad this is a mutual decision and I hope we can still remain on good terms – a friendly breakup, say?" Marr burst out all at once, completely relieved that things were going her way and this looked like it'd be a relatively drama-free breakup.

"I – _what?!_ " Ben spluttered, going first pink, then red, then a rather blotchy purple that Marr didn't find very attractive. "Marr – you – what?! No! I was going to say," He grabbed her hand, clutching it tightly with uncomfortably sweaty fingers - in terrible contrast with Fred's soft feathers, "Marr, I was going to say, I think I'm in love with you!"

Marr's eyes widened and she was torn between whether to laugh or cry. Oh _hell_ to the no.

"You – you can't want to break up! Not after we've gone through so much together! Do the past five months really mean nothing to you?"

Marr opened her mouth to reply, tinging pink herself at the situation now in her hands, but he cut her off before she could begin.

"And we were each other's firsts, that _has_ to mean something to you! You can't want to break up after that!"

People were beginning to stare now - not the admiring or envious stares Marr was used to, but amused, faintly curious looks.

" _Actually..._ we weren't. Well, maybe for you, but I wasn't -" Marr began to correct him before he cut her off again, getting angrier and more desperate every passing second.

"But – you said -"

"I never _said_ anything. Sure, I never corrected you either, but I never _said_ I was a virgin. And even if I'd been, I don't think being each other's' firsts ties me to you forever, Ben."

"Then everything you've ever said to me was a lie? You're always making up excuses to avoid me, aren't you? You're seeing someone else, am I right?" His argument suddenly did a complete 180 turn and his became a cold hiss. "Given what you're wearing, I wouldn't be surprised. You were probably ready to just give it up - that looks more like a nightgown than a dress! Every guy within fifty yards of you must have been checking you out, but of course, you _like_ the attention, don't you? Little _slutty_ Marr – how many times have you cheated on me?"

Marr's eyes widened even more. "I've never _once_ cheated, and don't you dare call me a slut or I'll make sure I'll be your first _and_ your last!" At that, he paled a little, knowing full well that Marr was never afraid to carry out her threats. " You know what, I'd say I'm sorry if it hurts your macho-man ego to have a girlfriend who actually _likes_ herself, but frankly, Ben, I'd be lying, because not only do I not care about your ego, but you also happen to not _have_ a girlfriend anymore. You don't control what I do or what I wear, and you're _certainly_ not allowed to judge me." Her voice dripped honey and poison.

She rubbed her temples, _so_ not in the mood to have to deal with Ben.

If anything, Ben looked even more angered. Marr had to give him some credit – at least he was more interesting now. He grabbed her by the elbow, scaring away half of the pigeons, including Fred, to Marr's great dismay, and pulled her to face him.

Marr rolled her eyes. Of course, she was being bitchy, she knew that, but he was really getting on her nerves.

"So the past five months have meant nothing to you?"

"Nope." She shrugged.

He lost his icy demeanour and indeed, tears were beginning to well in his eyes – a bit pathetic, if she thought about it. "I was going to tell you I loved you! I thought we were in love, Marr, and you just go and step all over my feelings like they're nothing?"

"Ben, you don't _love_ me. I treat you like crap and the only reason I haven't dumped you yet is that honestly, I was scared of you crying - something I was clearly right to do. It's just a little attachment; it'll wear off soon - you're burning through the five stages of grief, that's a _good_ sign for you. We're over."

Marr stood up, shook him off her arm while he let out a small whimper, brushed bread crumbs off her dress and, just to spite him, adjusted her bra straps just a little, exposing that bit of more skin. " _Bye,_ Ben."

She left him gaping at her, surrounded by hungry pigeons.

After a few moments he managed to close his mouth, grabbing the quarter of a loaf of stale bread she'd left behind, and he started feeding the pigeons, looking shocked, incredulous, utterly lost, as if he still hadn't quite registered the recent turn of events.

She would have felt bad for him if she hadn't been so damn pissed off. Or is she hadn't had a reputation to uphold.

Heartbreaker through and through.

* * *

When Marr arrived back at the apartment building, the sun was already down – she'd gone grocery shopping, knowing her mother would forget and knowing that, for some reason she was still unsure of, her brother and sister were AWOL.

Her phone had died in the meantime, and she hastily walked over to the door enclosing the stairs, wanting to recharge it in case she missed any news from her siblings.

If she didn't, she'd go to Mrs. Cormaci, get her to accompany her to the police station (she might have flaunted all day, but at night she did get scared of walking through the streets alone, overly cautious of murderers and rapists who might set their eye on her. Mrs Cormaci had always warned her that pretty girls were attractive targets for criminals.) and she'd report them as missing. It was a good, flawless plan. It would work.

She nearly screamed when she reached the staircase – there, crawling and scuttling like a fresh, live carpet, were hundreds upon hundreds of roaches, some as small as her fingernails, some – way too many of them – larger than her balled fist. There was barely enough room for her to climb the stairs, so she used what little available space she had, thinking she'd have to call pest control too.

Fortunately, the roaches' numbers seemed to diminish the more flights she climbed – they seemed to be coming from the basement – and by the time she'd reached her own hall, there were only a few dozen of them in sight. She unlocked her door to drop off the groceries and make dinner for her mother before bothering Mrs. Cormaci, and froze at the sight inside.

There had definitely been a struggle. The lamps were knocked over, some broken or ripped, bowls had been upset, the couch was knocked back and the chairs were lying on the floor. The wooden floor was scratched where it hadn't been before – ten individual scratches, leading from the overturned couch to the door.

They looked terrifyingly like human scratches from human nails.

Her heart began to pound.

She checked the rooms, one by one, clicking on every light she passed as if scared that someone would grab her from behind.

 _Click, click, click._ Nothing in Gregor's room.

 _Click, click, click._ Nothing in Marr and Lizzie's room.

 _Click, click, click._ The bathroom was empty, as before.

 _Click, click, click_. Three broken lamps on the floor.

 _Click, click, click._ Nothing in the sitting room _._

Inexplicably, the house was empty. Marr set the grocery bags on the table, white-faced and wide-eyed, yanked her phone charger out of its plug in her room, and slammed all the lights shut, promptly getting the hell out of there.

She barely remembered to lock the door.

Marr raced down the hall, to the familiar wine stain, and hammered at the door desperately, panic beginning to set in.

"Mrs. Cormaci!" she yelled, praying the elderly woman would hear her. "Mrs. Cormaci, it's Margaret, please open the door!"

The door inched open and Mrs. Cormaci's rouge-covered face peeked out, her hair tightly wrapped in a scarf around her head.

"Goodness, _child_ , you'll wake the dead! Come in, come in – are those _cockroaches_?"

Marr gratefully stepped in, chest heaving with fear, and nodded. "There are hundreds of them downstairs. I think – I think they're coming from the laundry room. Mrs. Cormaci, I can't find Mom or Gregor or Lizzie anywhere! They've been gone all day and they're not answering my calls and the apartment looks like a warzone! If you culd just go down to the police station with me - I don't want to go by myself..."

But Mrs. Cormaci had gone very still. "From the laundry room, you say?"

Marr nodded.

"And you're _certain_ your brother or sister have _no_ place they'd be to not answer your calls?"

"Mrs. Cormaci, my mom is gone too, and Gregor and Lizzie _always_ answer my calls!"

Mrs. Cormaci sighed – she looked more exasperated than scared, and Marr found herself almost calming down – almost.

"My dear girl, you're not going outside dressed like _that_. Come with me. There's a flashlight in the second drawer to the right of that press. Go grab it, and put on more sensible footwear - you and your heels, Margaret. I don't know what you _need_ them for. We're about the same shoe size – I think I have a pair of boots in that cupboard, under the sink."

Marr found the flashlight, as confused as ever, and kicked off her heels, pulling on the buckled, flat-soled knee boots as instructed, hideous as they were.

"Mrs. Cormaci, what…"

The old woman had grabbed her walking cane, which Marr knew she didn't really need despite her bad leg but used anyways in order to whack people out of her way.

"Help me lace these up, will you?" the woman had pulled on her own old-fashioned footwear, and was struggling to bend low enough to tie them up. Marr obediently did as instructed and followed her out the door, while Mrs. Cormaci pushed every stray roach away from her.

They took the stairs down to the laundry room, Marr's confusion growing along with the masses of bugs – big bugs, indeed.

Mrs. Cormaci didn't seem very shaken by any of this, to Marr's great surprise, and acted like this was her typical Wednesday afternoon, until they reached the door to the laundry room, where the roaches were so big each individual step could be heard.

"Careful not to step on them, now. They must've been sent here to get you."

Marr blinked up at the woman, trying to make sense of her words. "Mrs. Cormaci, they're cockroaches, what do you mean, sent to get -"

"You give them less credit than they deserve, especially from you. Don't step on them. Check the vent – the one your mom was so obsessed with a few years back. It should be wide open – just climb in. Trust me. Don't be scared. Just check for the wisps before you get in – don't go _near_ the thing if there aren't wisps."

Marr frowned, wondering if she'd jinxed Mrs. Cormaci's state of mind earlier that day with Ben, but chose to follow the instructions nonetheless – she seemed too earnest about them.

"Take care. And whatever you do, _Boots_ ," Mrs. Cormaci smiled affectionately at her childhood nickname, "you can always trust the roaches."

With that, she turned around and, scooping bugs out of her way with the cane, walked right away.

Marr, for once, was left speechless, staring after her, and only once she'd shaken off the tenacious stupor did she walk into the laundry room, trying not to step on the bugs or to panic – there was a horrifying amount of them, and she was ready to _nope_ right out of there.

But she trusted Mrs. Cormaci.

She knew the right vent very well indeed – she'd grown up watching her mother, in her more lucid moments, trying every possible method to seal the grate, to make sure it would never come loose. She'd never understood why – now she was about to find out.

The grate was completely off, leaning against the wall, and Marr removed it in order to get a better look, dumping it on top of a not-yet-cockroach-dominated dryer. At first, she could see nothing but darkness – no vent walls, certainly no wisps, like Mrs. Cormaci had described. She shone the flashlight into the opening, trying to get a better look.

Then she saw them.

Silvery swirls of glitter, floating and turning like tiny tornadoes, and Marr was hit with a strong sense of déjà vu as she leaned in, experimentally poking her head in to look around. She spun the beam of the torch around, seeing nothing but complete and utter nothing for what seemed like miles around – she really did hope Mrs. Cormaci knew what she was talking about, but this felt right. Like she'd done this before.

Right before climbing in, as Mrs. Cormaci had told her to, Marr spun around, glanced at the cockroaches and, as if they'd understand her, muttered a short string of words.

 _"Here goes nothing."_


End file.
